


How To Have Fun Like A Bad Guy And Not Die

by Francchi



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drinking, Gen, Mild Blood, Obscure Popculture References, Old Men Being Salty, Smoking, Swearing, Widowmaker Losing Her Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7406965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Francchi/pseuds/Francchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Widowmaker, Reaper and McCree get assigned on a Talon mission together. They've got a whole night to spend before the assault. Shenanigans go down and as a result, absolutely nothing goes according to the plan the next day.  How long can it take to make an emotionless person snap?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Have Fun Like A Bad Guy And Not Die

**Author's Note:**

> Initially, this was a pretty serious, decent adventure flick. But as I continued writing it, I felt my sanity levels decreasing, much like Widowmaker in this story. I'm sorry for minor grammar/tense mistakes. I hope you'll enjoy it!

The sun was setting over Ilios, painting the sky a beautiful shade of red.

Almost bloodlike.

Amélie had just finished washing and drying her hair and wrapped a towel around her head.

She sat on the bed in the middle of her hotel room, not entirely sure what to do next.

She really just wanted to get to the killing and be over with this mission. Tomorrow afternoon in the city center some stuck up official was going to be holding up a conference then go to visit some building site to give it his blessing. Whatever. Either way, whoever he was, Talon wanted him gone. She was down for it - she always was. But there was a tiny little problem, namely, Talon's hostility over the bastard was obvious enough for newly reestablished Overwatch, or rather, its remaining crumbles, and rumor had it they were going to escort their target.

Her superiors thought it might just be a little more difficult than usual. That's why they assigned her... some help.

Her hand involuntarily started picking on the sleeve of the shirt she was using as night gown.

An old, way oversized male shirt she just found in her closet one day.

She had no idea where it came from, but it smelled different than her other stuff. A nice smell. Somehow familiar. There weren't many things she cared about these days, but this one was a favourite of hers.

Suddenly, a loud sound of slamming doors in the hallway pulled her drifting thoughts right back on Earth.

She went to see what was going on.

Passing through the corridor she spotted Jesse McCree, one of her partners on this mission, frantically looking around for something and making tons of noise while at it.

"What in the world are you doing?" Widowmaker asked, with no real interest in her voice.

"Oh-- Howdy, lady!" He turned to her immediately and nodded as a greeting. "You didn't happen to see the old man somewhere in here, did ya?"

"If by 'old man' you mean Reaper, his room number is 16."

McCree rolled his eyes in a very theatrical way.

"That I know. But he's not there. And I don't imagine him chilling out in the pool. I think he owes me an explanation." There was a bit of anger in his voice, as his fingers tapped one of the revolvers hung by his belt.

"Is that so? Perhaps I can help. You're making a lot of noise. I thought, maybe naively, that assassins are supposed to stay in the shadows."

McCree opened his mouth to say something, but finally decided against it.

"How's your hand?" Widowmaker asked, raising an eyebrow. Upon their meeting this morning, he offered to take and kiss her hand, a nice gesture which she successfully disrupted by hiding a tiny, poisonous stinger in her palm. You can never be too careful in this line of job, especially as a woman.

"Still hurts like hell and beyond, thanks for asking."  He replied bitterly. "Anyway, about what you said earlier, yes, perhaps you can help. Tell me, did you have any idea Overwatch was involved in this?!" He seemed greatly agitated. "I thought we'd only be taking out that son of a bitch, Stavros! I read up his papers, alright?  I know all the fucked up shit he's done. Thing is, I normally wouldn't get into a dirty business like Talon, but this bastard goes against everything I believe in personally. But it never mentioned anything about Overwatch! Why would they even guard this piece of--"

"Because he's an important and respected government official and Overwatch is kissing government's ass so they don't screw them over again." She cut him off calmly, with a bit of sarcasm in her voice. Honestly, the cowboy's word flow was kind of exhausting. "They're bureaucrats. Unlike Talon agents."

McCree huffed angrily and leaned against the wall.

"Also, weren't we supposed to be joined by some Aussie guys too?"

"We were. But I don't think they're going to make it in time. Getting across the world when you're an international criminal refusing to be taken under anyone's wings can't be very easy." She informed him.

They stood in silence for a while. Seeing as he was still glaring at her unconvinced, Widowmaker decided to try again.

"What does it matter, anyway? We have to take that silly little man out. We don't have to bother with the heroes. Unless they get in our way of course, then we have the full right to crush them."

"Ugh... You don't know what you're sayin', lady."

Amélie knew the man was once associated with Overwatch, but really couldn't see the reason behind his panic. Sentiments? That's not something she would understand. Though they did try to mess with her head back in the day too, she was above that. Talon was the only thing she trusted. Then again, Reaper used to be a part of them too, and he was not throwing hissy fits. Speaking of the devil...

A cloud of purple smoke appeared closely behind McCree and shortly after, Reaper has finally made his appearance.

"JEEZ!" McCree shouted in surprise, making some fed up hotel guest pop up his head from his room.

"Excuse me! Listen, I'm not one to shut people up when they're having fun on holidays, I'm really not-- " The pudgy middle aged tourist sounded extremely nervous, understandably so, considering he was talking to a blue woman in pajamas and a towel on her head, a cowboy and a suspicious man wearing long black coat and a skull mask. "--B-but it's getting kind of late and you've been making quite a ruckus for a while..."

"I apologize for this imbecile. We shall be quiet now." Reaper reassured, to which the tourist nodded and hid back in his room.

"Wow. Thanks, _dad_." McCree sulked while Reaper turned his way. Widowmaker sort of wished she could see his expression.

"Where the hell were you anyway?" He wasn't done with his tirade yet.

"How about we go to my room and talk, before we get kicked out of this nice hotel." She suggested and invited the men in. Seeing her reflection in the mirror reminded her of the fact she was still wearing the towel, which felt a little bit ridiculous. Not that they would care about that, at least she hoped.

"Sooo? Any answers? We were all hired for this mission together, you know that?" McCree was tapping his foot impatiently.

"What's with you all of the sudden? I just went outside for a moment to see if they've got an eye on our hotel yet."

"Aaand?"

"And they don't. Or so it seems. Perhaps it was a good idea for Talon to send us here instead of stationing us in one of their aircrafts."

Widowmaker nodded in agreement. "I didn't like the idea of sticking here with all these people at first... But it does seem rather discreet in hindsight."

"Whatever. I just don't trust you anymore, after you suggested me to those Talon creeps and just conveniently forgot to mention Overwatch to me."

"But you did figure it out in the end. Smart boy." Reaper said with a tone one would use when talking to a dog.

McCree sat on Widowmaker's bed with his arms crossed. He did seem rather grumpy still, but he would most likely cheer up in a minute. That's just how he was.

A long moment of awkward silence passed.

"So, um..." The cowboy started again, "On a more positive note, any of y'all have plans for tonight?"

"What do you mean?" Widowmaker tilted her head slightly.

"Well... We've got time until tomorrow afternoon, that's plenty if you ask me. You wanna go for a drink or something?"

"A drink?" She sounded confused.

"This isn't time for this--" Reaper started, but couldn't finish.

"Yeah. A drink. Don't you guys have any hobbies besides uh... killing people?"

"Hobbies?" Widowmaker was still lost.

"Like a thing you do in your leisure time that you enjoy." McCree's face was turning more and more terrified. What kind of people  did he get himself involved with?

"Enjoy? I enjoy killing." The woman sounded almost offended.

McCree sighed. This was a lost case.

"Well, what about you Reaps? What are you up to lately?"

"You call me 'Reaps' one more time, my gun will be up your ass." At that point he sounded so frustrated his Hispanic accent was coming out.

"Ah. Kinky. That explains the BDSM getup." McCree sent him a shit-eating grin which made Reaper clench his fists.

"What's bee-dee-es-em?" This evening has proved to be nothing but educational for Widowmaker so far.

"ALRIGHT THEN, I THINK WE ALL COULD USE SOME FRESH AIR IN HERE." McCree stood up rapidly and opened the balcony door wide.  He stepped outside and took a deep breath.

"What a nice evening. Really though, Reaps, if you're all about not being found, why are you still dressed up like this? It's pretty recognizable, not to mention, you must be sweating like all fucks underneath."

"It's not that bad. And me wearing this is still a better option than taking it off." He grumbled in response, then turned away and started looking around Widowmaker's room, just to avoid some of the awkwardness.

"Whoa, is your mug this ugly these days?" McCree lit himself a cigar, admiring some of the views outside. "Still, I'm freakin' bored. I don't wanna be stuck in my room for almost a whole day."

"Then get yourself a date at the bar or something." Somehow, without even realizing, Reaper and Widowmaker were already both sitting on the bed cross legged, looking through the DVDs crammed on a shelf under the TV.

"I'm not that kinda fella." Now it was McCree who sounded offended. "I prefer tradition. I take things the long, honorable way."

"Like giving the bride's parents a bunch of seaweed and shit?" Reaper asked without removing his focus from the movie collection.

"Why not? I'm open minded as long as it's interesting." He shrugged. "Hold on, why _seawee_ \--"

"All of these are super old. I don't think even your grandpas would remember them." Widowmaker leaned over and pulled out a case. "How about this one? It has some guys looking all bloody on the back. I like seeing men in pain."

"God no, we're not watching _Saving Private Ryan_. I've been forced to watch this angsty crap so many times in the past I could probably write you down half of the dialogues as we speak." Reaper sounded set on this decision, ignoring McCree's cackle at the grandpa comment from earlier in the background.

Amelié got up to have a closer look. After a couple of minutes of browsing, she pulled another box out.

"Then maybe this? It has guys in cowboy hats on the cover, perhaps McCree would like it."

" ** _NO!_** " Reaper almost screamed upon seeing her choice.

"Listen, I don't even care that much, could you quit being so picky?"

McCree blew out some of his cigar smoke.

"Yeah, listen to the lady, old man. Looks like she's got more brains than you do after all those years, and she's the one who works with Talon full shift."

"Lady has a name, you know." She glared at him, growing slightly impatient with his obnoxious behaviour.

"I do know. But it makes me uncomfortable. Widowmaker. As if you specifically targeted some poor girls' husbands."

"That's what I do for a living."

" _Ugh._ "

"Let's watch this thing." Reaper took the initiative, already shoving the disc in the player. "Looks safe enough."

McCree finally finished his cig and returned to the room. He glanced at the cover. It was some ghostly looking child standing in front of a giant ominous window.

"I'm questioning your definition of safe, buddy."

" _Good_."

"Eeeeedgy~" McCree hummed in response, but joined them on the bed. Unlike his so called edgy friend, he was polite enough to take off his shoes first. "You think they do room service here?"

 

*****

 

Widowmaker was brutally awakened by something that sounded like a curseword screamed in panic. It was still the middle of the night, darkness all around, the only source of light coming from the TV in the middle of the room.

She opened her eyes slowly, trying to make her way in the dark. Sitting up, she knocked down an empty bottle of tequila standing on her bedside table. One of them, anyway. Her hands explored the surroundings - she was covered with something fluffy, seemed like the guys pulled a blanket over her while she was passed out.

"What's going...? Whattimee...." She covered her mouth, yawning.

"McCree is being a pussy." Reaper stated simply. He had taken off his mask from the looks of it, though his face wasn't very visible in this lighting anyways.

"N-No I'm not! You're a fucking psychopath, making me watch a bunch of orphans slash each other! _This_ is why we're not working together anymore." McCree whined from the floor. He had to fall off just a second ago.

"McCree, stop being a pussy." She said reproachfully. "Is this still the same movie?"

"Yup. We took a snack break while you were sleeping. It's almost over though." Reaper sounded unusually happy, not moving his eyes from the screen.

McCree climbed the bed back and clinged to Widowmaker's arm for dear life.

"Please stay up and watch something normal with me once this hell is over? I won't be able to sleep after this shit, like a NORMAL FLIPPIN' PERSON-" He raised his voice, sending Reaper a deadly glare.

" _Ouais, ouais_..." She mumbled, grabbing a handful of chips from the bowl nearby.

"Kids these days are so boring, holy shit." Reaper remarked.

"Would you rather us be like THESE kids?" McCree pointed at the TV. "Dad of the year!!"

"Shut up."

Widowmaker felt completely dazed from all the booze she's had, and the guys' yapping felt rather annoying. Though with as much experience as she's had with drinking, she knew sooner or later things would get weirdly emotional and even more awkward. She wasn't particularly down for acting as frustrated Americans' personal therapist.

But for now, she just continued chewing on her food, watching the crazed orphans chase after each other.

 

*****

 

The sky outside was slowly turning a lighter shade of blue. Through the open windows and balcony, you could hear voices of the tourists returning from local nightclubs and beach parties.

Amélie has lost count of the movies they've watched. Since Reaper fell asleep a while ago, her and McCree went on a complete spree, including the ones he had forbidden them to watch earlier. Hey, they were curious.

Her head was laying flat on the sheets, staring at the screen with a fuzzy vision. She felt utter emptiness.

" _Merde_ , this movie is pretty fucking sad. I don't get sad and I think it's sad."

"God damn the cowboy honor!" McCree exclaimed, slamming his fist on a pillow.

"Why can't they just be together or somethin'?" She asked him, poorly mimicking Southern accent. "Can't you men in funny hats chill with whoever you want?"

"Of course we do, but this movie is like bazillion years old. Hell, older than Reaps! People were pretty damn stupid back then, it seems."

"Word."

"What about you?" It was his turn to ask. "Can blue women hang out with other blue women?"

Amélie looked up at him.

"You do realize I'm a normal human just like you?" She raised her hand and stared at it. "I just have... mild circulation problems."

"Well, I didn't want to be rude and outright ask." McCree shrugged. "But you do look like you belong in one of those video games."

"Which ones?"

"You know, the ones that give you green, red and yellow choices to make your own story, but in the end you screw yourself up anyways."

"Ah, those. Yeah. I liked them for the shooting." She mumbled into the sheet.

They sat in a dizzy awe for a while, with the movie still playing in the background. It was one of these moments when you're not sure whether anything is real or not.

McCree looked over to Reaper who was still asleep.

"You know, I've known the old man since way back, but he's always been so secretive..."

"Where are you going with this?"

"You think he keeps something weird on him? Like a diary? An old whimsical photo of Overwatch guys? Crazy cartoon porn or somethin'..."

"You can go and check if you want, but I still cherish my life with all limbs in place, _merci beaucoup, mon ami_. " Widowmaker moved a little to watch the drama unfold.

"You only live once, right?" McCree crawled over, looming above Reaper. However, as soon as he moved his hand, suddenly, his victim's arm went straight up to his collar, and with one swift pull, slammed him on the floor.

That looked painful, Widowmaker thought. But it figures the guy would be in constant vigilance, even in his sleep.

"Fuuuck, man... That was meaaan...." McCree whined, trying to regain his composure on the floor.

"Was it worth trying?" She asked, glancing over at Reaper, who still looked like his sleep was completely undisrupted.

"Nope." The cowboy groaned.

She wanted to tell him something more, she definitely did, but the late hour, comfortable bed and amount of alcohol consumed have finally won over her, making her doze off yet again.

 

*****

 

Widowmaker was lying spread on the bed, mouth wide open and drooling, the towel long gone from her head, hair looking like a tangled, damp jungle on the pillows. She was snoring loudly.

Somewhere by her feet lied Reaper, still in his full leather get up. He was all curled up and clinging to a giant pillow so possessively it almost looked murderous.

And then, on the floor was McCree, resting his head on the edge of the bed, his hat covering most of his face.

The remaining space on the bed, the floor as well as completely random places in the expensive hotel room were covered in empty bottles, cans, dishes, food packaging, pillows, empty DVD cases and occasionally - gun shells. The whole place looked like it had fallen victim to a typhoon made entirely of frat boys.

It was the morning.

And in that disastrous setting, a phone rang.

It kept ringing. And ringing.

Amelié opened her eyes, immediately blinded by the sun.

" _C'est quoi ce bordel... Tais-toi..._ " She mumbled to herself, slowly sitting up and reaching the hotel phone.

"Yes...?"

"Good morning miss Lacroix! You've ordered a wake-up call for 12:00. "

Widowmaker sat there, still groggy.

Wait, what did she say....? 12:00...?

It's 12:00 already?! They were supposed to report to Talon and receive further orders at 12:30! Not to mention she was rather sure she had ordered a wake-up call for 8:00, not 12:00.

"Excuse me? Are you sure this isn't a mistake?" She asked through the phone, confused. "I ordered a call for 8:00."

"Initially, yes, miss, but then you've called us after midnight saying you'd like to postpone it. Could it be that you've forgotten?"

She didn't say anything.

"Either way, our staff is hoping you're going to have a great day at our hotel." And with that, the polite front desk lady hung up.

Had she been alone and fully sober it wouldn't be a problem to get ready and meet up in less than 30 minutes but now... Not to mention they were already late. The conference was to begin at 14:00.

She looked around the room and groaned loudly. She quickly crawled over to Reaper and started shaking him violently.

"Hey! Hey old man! Wake up! We've gotta get ready! The mission!"

"Mmh... Fuck off, Blackwatch can run itself for a day..." He grumbled, burying his face into the pillow.

"What the fuck is Blackwatch? STOP LIVING IN THE PAST AND GET ON WITH REALITY! WAKE UP!" She yelled, growing impatient with the man and turned to McCree instead. She punched him right in the top of his head.

"Get up cowboy, it's high noon already! We have to get ready before Talon kicks our asses!"

"Ugh, high noon can wait...Five more minutes ma..."

The woman groaned again. Emotions were an abstract concept to her.

However, if she were to feel again, annoyance would surely be the first thing on the list.

There was no point in waiting for these fools. She grabbed her working suit out of the bag and dashed to the bathroom. About ten minutes later, she heard a bunch of curse words coming from the room, a clear sign that the boys have finally come to.

Her head was pounding. She felt nauseous. She felt _terrible._ Come to think of it, someone with her circulation really shouldn't be letting alcohol into the bloodstream.

Well, it was too late to worry about it. Now she could only hope that what doesn't kill her would make her stronger.

When she re-entered the room, they were already gone. Must've ran off to their own rooms to freshen up. Good enough, she thought, there are only so many hours in a day you can handle seeing someone's face.

She didn't even care about the mess around the room. It wasn't on her bill anyway, and the room service could probably use an extra tip. She went to her bag to check if her equipment was still intact.

A quick glance at the clock. Three more minutes. She made it. More or less. One more look in the mirror to see if she looked presentable, and off she was to meet up with the Talon agent downstairs.

 

*****

 

A formidable crowd of people and omnics has gathered around the city hall. Some of them were journalists, some were politicians, some - just curious citizens and tourists. Their target was inside, giving his speech. Going inside now, with so many people focusing their attention on him would be unwise - Widowmaker had already learned her lesson at King's Row the other day. They'd try to get him once he's on his way to the building site for the brand new hospital or whatever that thing was meant to be. It wasn't important.

The two locations weren't very far from each other, just couple hundreds of meters. It was likely that he would travel there in his limo, surrounded by citizens, bodyguards and the great and mighty Overwatch. Not a problem. They were prepared. Plan A was to snipe him while he was still out. Plan B was to attempt to snipe him through the glass, although there was a huge chance it was bulletproof. Plan C was complete and utter diversion and chaos, featuring Reaper's Death Blossom. Hopefully it wouldn't have to come to that though.

_Fifteen more minutes until Stavros gets out._ Widowmaker was lying on the hard, cold concrete roof of one of the buildings opposite the city hall, rifle ready on the bipod. Her head was still pulsing slowly with pain, making her visor feel at least five times as heavy as it actually was. What was worse, her hands were shaking. Perhaps getting wasted right before a mission that required micromilimetric precision wasn't the greatest idea she's ever had.

She saw McCree blended in the crowd, his Peacemaker right at his side. Reaper was on another roof, on the East from her location,  watching from the shadows.

"You sure you can spot his little fat head among all of these people, lady?" McCree teased through the microphone they were all supposed to use to communicate.

"Shut your mouth." She sighed, exhausted.

"Not like I'm doubting your skills or anythin'." He chuckled. "Oy, old man, you okay there? You've hardly said anything since the morning."

"My head feels like it's going to fucking explode, thanks for your concern." Reaper growled in reply.

"Told ya you should've gone easy on that tequila, buddy."

"Your pasty ass will tell me how to handle my tequila when Hell freezes over."

Widowmaker rubbed her sore forehead, taking a deep breath.

"Do all former Blackwatch members have deeply rooted emotional constipation or is it just you guys?"

You could hear a choking-like noise from Reaper's side of the line and McCree bursting into laughter. Surely that must've caught some people's glances.

Suddenly, the front door of the hall opened. The crowd got louder, camera flashes blinked from every direction. It was time.

Widowmaker quickly looked through the rifle telescope.

There was their target, Stavros, emerging from the building. He was a short, corpulent tanned guy with few gray hairs left on his head. And he was a filthy fraud. Disgusting.

And there, on his right, stood the slippery little imp known as Tracer, on his left, Soldier 76. Behind them, a giant, odd figure of Winston was looming, probably receiving as much of the journalists' attention as the VIP himself.

Widowmaker bit her lip. That wasn't good. She was fast, he had good sight. And Winston was strong as hell and knew how to handle Reaper.

And that definitely wasn't all of them either. They had to bring Mercy if they knew Talon had its eyes on Stavros. Just in case. Maybe even some more people.

A strong wind blew. She shuddered.

She felt watched.

Suddenly, a loud groan in her earpiece.

"Sniper... nghh..." Reaper's voice cut off, followed by a series of gunshots.

"What the-- Reaper? Reaper?!" She shouted into the mic. "McCree, you heard that?"

Silence on the line.

Shit, shit, she had to focus, quickly. She went back to the lunette.

Tracer was gone.

She heard the shots last moment and managed to roll to the side.

"Again with this? Aw come on love, let people live!" Tracer exclaimed with her chirping voice. She was standing right behind her.

"It is not for me to decide, but Talon. Why don't you let people do their hobbies." Amélie snarked back, standing up, grabbing her rifle on the way. She shot immediately, then once again, but the other girl was too quick.

"You need a change of hobby, dear. Why not crocheting or something?" She sounded cheerful as ever, but her face was serious and angry.

"Not a bad idea. You start with a hook, don't you?" And with that, Widowmaker threw her grappling hook at Tracer and started running towards the staircase. The metal object flew by Tracer's chin, making a small cut, but it was a good enough method to slow her down a little.

She ran down the long stairs as fast as she could, praying to all that was holy not to trip. She tried connecting to the line one more time.

"McCree?! Reaper?! Where the hell are you?! They got us, we have to be quick or they'll hide Stavros right away!"

"I'm here!"  Hearing the cowboy's voice never felt so relieving. "Pretty sure I just died though, cause I saw an angel with a shotgun. Well, a pistol. And I'm not talking about our Daddy Edge over there."

Widowmaker cursed loudly.

"You should be able to handle her though, no? Can you see what's going on with our target?"

"They're getting nervous. Commander's saying something to the ape, can't see the girl though."

"She's tailing me."

"Oh. Well, I'm trying to avoid the doc, but I'm gonna have to open fire sooner or later. And that's gonna make them freak."

"That-- I--"

She wasn't sure what order to give him.

She made it out of the building, squeezing through the crowd to get to the other side of it. She didn't make it very far, though. The Greek heat, lack of space and hangover got to her. She stopped. Her chest was pounding, something that didn't happen very often. She was dizzy and even more nauseous.

"GOTCHA!" Tracer caught up to her and tackled her down. Widowmaker had little strength to fight back, but she tried as hard as she could to at least elbow her in the face. Tracer aimed one of her pistols at her.

"Listen for a sec here, love. Overwatch is not like you! We don't kill unless we have to. And I don't want to "have to". Can't you just stop? Give up? Go away? You used to be our friend once, there has to be something good in you still!"

Widowmaker roared like a wild lioness and punched Tracer right in the face. A loud cracking noise ensued.

She did not need to hear this bullshit. Not again.

Widowmaker quickly wriggled from under her enemy, grabbed her rifle, and shot a few times, blindly, just to scare her away.

But the deed was done. People around started screaming, looking for the source of the noise.

A few seconds later, another series of gunshots occurred, from another side of the square.

"So from what I'm pickin' up our entire plan went to fuck itself?" McCree asked.

" _Oui!_ " She gasped into the mic. "Meet me on the other side of the building, we need to group up! And where the fuck is Reaper?!"

"No idea, but we still have a chance if we get our shit together. They shoved Stavros into his limo, they didn't pull him back to the hall."

They met up by the back door, and both immediately fell to the ground, panting heavily. McCree was covered in minor wounds and blood splatters, but overall seemed okay.

"What about Mercy?" Widowmaker asked.

"Lost her on the way, I think she actually turned away at some point."

"She might've gone to heal Tracer up. I think I broke her nose."

"YIKES."

Suddenly, they heard a loud crash. They were ready to fight, until they noticed it was just Reaper, who seemingly had jumped from the roof and landed on the trash container.

"Where the hell were you?!" The woman scolded him.

"I lost the earpiece while fighting their sniper. " He said calmly.

"And what about him?" She continued, still angry.

"He turned back. I think he went to report to the rest."

"They're grouping up as well, not good." McCree sighed.

"What now?" Widowmaker asked again. She felt so terrible for the first time in forever she just wanted to go home, immediately, not giving a single fuck about whether the guy actually gets assassinated or not.

Silence, only interrupted by their heavy breathing. Finally, Reaper spoke:

"I'll teleport to the building site, have a look around, camp. I still need a bit of time to prepare my attack. Widowmaker, go to the roof again." He went quiet for a second there, perhaps thinking. "As soon as they get out of the car, shoot. Just shoot at them. Anybody. We need diversion. Obviously they'll cover Stavros with everything they've got now, but if you hit one of them, their formation will crash. Just make sure to do some real fucking damage, if you know what I mean."

"Headshot?"

"Headshot. McCree, you go by the entrance of whatever she stands on. Cover her. Fight off anyone who comes by, if you fail, give us a warning. We can't afford any waste of energy and ammo at this point. I guess that would be it. Understood?"

Widowmaker just nodded sharply, but McCree let out a long, impressed whistle.

"What?" Reaper asked, annoyed.

"You've still got it, boss. You know, you'd actually make a pretty good commander."

Reaper stood silent for a moment, then just shook his masked head and snarled:

"Right. Tell that to Morrison." And he turned away, ready to go.

" ** _Y I K E S._** " McCree exclaimed again, making a face as if someone's just spilled a bucket of cold water on him.

"... _Yikes_." Widowmaker muttered quietly. Even she had to admit that boy had issues.

 

*****

 

They have repositioned and they were ready to go. The limousine was nearing the gates of the site.

Some could think Overwatch was out of their minds to let the politician make his public appearance here after gunshots in the audience. However, there was a whole political agenda to it. People needed that reassuring after the war. People needed to hear him babble irrelevant crap about the hospital in progress. At least that's what the government thought. It was understandable.

Widowmaker was stood in the empty soon-to-be window with her rifle. Reaper was on a small roof-like area outside, hiding behind a half wall. He was almost ready to perform his ultimate ability.

This time around, none of them even bothered to make small talk.

Ah, but nothing could go right on that day, could it?

Widowmaker heard noises from downstairs. Mercy and Tracer, from the sound of it. She heard a loud explosion, probably one of Tracer's bombs.  Soon enough, the noises started becoming more distant - McCree managed to lure them away.

The limousine stopped in front of the gate, but the gate was not opening.

_What the fuck...?_

They changed the plans. They made Stavros give his speech in front of the site instead.

It was a lot farther than she expected.  She couldn't quite see the short politician in the crowd, even with her visor on.

" _PUTAIN DE MERDE!_ " She cussed loudly, honestly tired of everything going wrong.

And then a loud roar, accompanied by a thunder-like sound dropped from the sky. Winston jumped on top of Reaper's little shelf. The two started fighting viciously.

Their spot was so far from the gates, however, the audience didn't really notice the things happening at the construction.

"REAPER, WHAT DO I DO?!" She shouted through the window in desperation, dodging a strike of Winston's electric rays.

"Shoot! At least try!" Reaper hissed through gritted teeth, shooting at the gorilla.

Alright. She had to calm down.

She did not have many bullets left. But one shot was all she needed to kill.

She looked through the telescope.

She could not spot the small, irrelevant politician whose photo she's only seen once before, no.

But what she could see was a mane of white hair and a vividly blue and red leather jacket.

Jackpot.

"I may not get the target now... But I'll still get my kill. This self-righteous grandpa has been getting on my nerves for a while now..."

He wasn't moving, covering Stavros. A perfect opportunity. She aimed the rifle straight at his head.

Come on, _mon cher_. Everything will be okay. I just need you to die.

Just die.

Die.

_Die._

She slipped her finger through the loop, ready to pull the trigger.

She pulled...

_Boom._

...

What the fuck.

Something hit her rifle with enough strength to shove her to the side and rip it right from her grasp. Widowmaker hit the hard, sandy floor of the construction as her weapon fell five levels down and crashed into pieces on the ground.

She was in such shock it took her a while to register.

The corridor was quiet. McCree was still away, fighting Overwatch. No one got in.

As realization came upon her, a new, strange feeling has spread throughout her body.

An emotion.

_Fury_.

She ran to the window and leaned out so quickly she almost fell out.

" ** _REAPER, WHAT THE FUCK?!"_**

Reaper was still standing in his spot, next to him was Winston, lying unconscious. The man threw his now useless guns on the ground and looked up at her.

" _Hmm?_ "

" ** _CAN YOU EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY RIFLE JUST NOW?!_ "**

Reaper shrugged. He _shrugged_.

"A minor miscalculation. I was doing my ulti."

"A MINOR-- **_AAAAAAH!!"_** She shrieked like a rabid animal. She lost it. She booked it. She lifted herself up with one swift movement and jumped out of the window.

"Widowmaker no--" Reaper begged.

" ** _WIDOWMAKER YES!_** " She cut him off and sprinted through the building site. " ** _FUCK YOU AND FUCK MCCREE AND FUCK MORRISON AND FUCK YOUR ANGSTY AMERICAN BLACKWATCH BULLSHIT I AM OUT!!_** "

"Whoa, hold on there! What's going on here?!" On her way to the gates, she passed McCree, who has apparently freed himself from the ladies.

"McCree, she's gone insane! Stop her!" Reaper shouted from the building.

McCree ran after her and managed to grab her wrist.

"Could you tell me what happened, I was away just for a minute--"

Widowmaker opened her mouth, ready to scream again but then...

Then she heard the single most terrifying sound one could hear while standing in the middle of an empty battlefield.

" ** _RYUU GA WAGA TEKI WO KURAU!_ "** Hanzo's mighty cry roared from one of the roofs, as two gigantic dragon spirits flied through the air towards them.

"RUN, FUCKING RUN!" She started running again, pulling McCree with her, but as she realized she wouldn't make it, she turned back and tackled him to the ground.

The dragons merely grazed the exposed skin on her back. She hardly ever felt pain, but ancient Japanese spirits were one of the few things that could harm her. A lot.  She hissed from the burning sensation - at least it pulled her back to reality though.

McCree, still pinned underneath her, looked at the passing dragons.

"Whoa. Those dragon thingies are pretty darn big from up close, aren't they?" He looked back at Widowmaker. "Ya reckon he's compensating for somethin'?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" She mumbled with a completely empty tone. She was tired. She was done. She did not care anymore.

Hanzo, Mercy, Tracer and Soldier came from all four directions to cuff them down and capture them. None of them even opposed. They were soon joined by Reaper, who was brought by Winston - apparently standing with your back exposed to the enemy wasn't the best battle strategy.

 

*****

 

As Overwatch specifically requested to interrogate the outlaws themselves, without the interference of the officials, McCree, Reaper and Widowmaker were put into some empty warehouse, arms and legs cuffed.

Overwatch members were not without injuries - Mercy was still patching Winston up in the background while Tracer had a giant, ridiculously looking bandage on her face. She was sitting on a crate, wrapped in a blanket, watching with curiosity.

Hanzo and Soldier 76 were standing over them with arms crossed, looking like two angry parents ready to give their kids a talk.

"So, let me guess. Talon?" Soldier asked, sounding disgusted with the very name of the organization.

No one replied him.

Widowmaker was humming some old French lullaby. McCree was staring off into the distance, bored. Reaper was sulking, growling something nasty from time to time.

"You've gone deaf or something? Answer me!"

"Talon, not Talon. Who gives a shit. Stavros is a corrupt fucker who stole from his people and was ass deep in mafia businesses. Even this hospital thing is a facade, there's a whole pharmaceutical scheme involved in it." McCree finally spoke, going with the mentality of the sooner they were done with this, the better. "You guys are idiots for protecting him."

Overwatch looked at each other in shock. Could they really all be so blind and oblivious to trust the government on that one?

"How do you know all this?" Hanzo squinted his eyes with suspicion.

"Talon documents, leaks. Stuff everybody in the underground should have access to." McCree's voice lacked interest.

Everyone looked at Hanzo, as if expecting something.

"Hey. Don't look at me! Just because my family was involved in crime doesn't mean I'm one of them. Besides, that was the Asian underground at best.

"I guess 'e's wight. Tha' was kinda unfai'." Tracer sounded like a duck. Widowmaker snorted.

"Are you really willing to trust their words though?" Winston spoke up.

"No. But, we don't have anything to prove them wrong either. We did take up on this job a little hastily. We wouldn't know all of these things." Soldier admitted.

Reaper laughed a laugh so coarse and ominous even Widowmaker found it unsettling.

"No, of course you wouldn't. You're trying to revive this childish farce that Overwatch is, but you're kind of forgetting about its sole component."

McCree glanced over at him, then grinned bitterly. "Eeyup. The guys who did the dirty work. And researched stuff like this so you could come in your golden armor and save the day, worry free."

The atmosphere in the warehouse became extremely tense.

"Touché, chief." Tracer looked over at Soldier.

"...Maybe. But Blackwatch is not coming back. You won't ruin everything now, that we've finally agreed to rebuild what was lost."

Reaper huffed sarcastically.

No one knew what to say. A long while of silence passed.

"Look, but we all agree that Stavros needs to die, right?" Widowmaker was tired. She just wanted to get back to the hotel.

"We don't know that for sure. How can we trust you in this situation?" Hanzo frowned.

"My bag." McCree looked like he just had an epiphany.

"Your bag?"

"Check the tablet in my bag. I'm pretty sure I still have his records saved there."

They did as he told them, going through the stuff they had previously confiscated from them.

"God damn it, it looks legit." Confirmed Soldier, about ten minutes later. "I think they might be telling us the truth."

Hanzo shook his head in disappointment. Everyone looked unsure.

"What do we do now then? We... can't just release them, right? " Winston addressed what everyone was pondering.

"Well... Technically, they were doing a good deed." Said Soldier 76.

"Goo' dee'?! Wha' ah ya talkin' abou', mur'da' is nevah the answa'!" As Tracer's nose was becoming more and more swollen, her speech was harder to understand.

Soldier sighed. "You're still too young to get it."

Tracer was about to start arguing, but one look from Mercy silenced her.

"Talon may be a terrible organization, but these were once your friends, no? What they were trying to do was honorable, whether they want it or not. Perhaps we should just forget for now." It would seem that Hanzo was doing his best to implement his new policy of moving on he had learned from his brother.

"Yeah, please, let us go home." Widowmaker groaned, her voice now slightly hoarse from all the screaming and the hangover that was still very much an issue. "We're done. You can even have this guy if you really want him. I don't care what Talon does to us. We've had one hell of a rough night. Gay sex and tequila do not go well together."

" _What?!"_ For once, the members of Overwatch did something in complete unity.

"I wish I could disagree, but she is not wrong." Said Reaper.

"Blue lady has never been this right." Agreed McCree.

"Gah' sehs n' te'ila?" Even with her nose broken, Tracer seemed to be the only one in the room brave enough to repeat this phrase.

"Ah, doesn't that sound nostalgic." Mercy clearly attempted to sound cheery, but it turned out more like a mother trying to resolve an awkward situation at the dinner table. Though her lips were smiling, her eyes looked terrified as if she was just remembering some horrific images from years long past she would never be able to forget.

Hanzo was muttering something under his breath quickly and quietly, but it sounded like "Go to the West, they said. Learn new cultures, they said."

Soldier 76 stepped back and raised his chin high up, an though his face was masked, you could imagine the judgmental look in his eyes.

"Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting."

"I don't know what you think we were doing, but if that convinces you to let us go, keep going." Widowmaker said with resignation.

"Alright, alright, fine! Set them free, just don't make me look at them and picture that... _thing_ , happening again." Soldier waved his hand at Hanzo and turned away. He joined Tracer on her crate, back turned to the hostages. The young woman patted his shoulder reassuringly.

 Hanzo started removing their cuffs.

"You know, Reaper..." Said Widowmaker quietly, rubbing her slightly sore wrist. "You still owe me a new rifle. Those things aren't cheap."

"Riiight... Send me the bill." Reaper didn't seem to care much.

"To be honest, I'm still greatly amazed, how, while spinning randomly, you managed to hit a 3 centimeters wide barrel hidden inside a building from the right angle for it to have enough force to knock the gun out of my hands."

"Life is full of wonders when you're a shadowy monster defying the laws of physics on daily basis." The sarcasm in his voice was reaching illegal levels.

"Isn't it, Talon strike-commander Reyes?"  She teased him with a smirk. Reaper looked like he wanted to show her the middle finger, but contained himself.

She turned to McCree instead, who was dusting off his attire after getting up from the floor. He immediately approached  Hanzo, standing uncomfortably close to him.

"Hanzo, right? Do ya mind if I ask you something?"  He was beaming with enthusiasm, which, in his case, wasn't a good sign.

_Oh no._

_He was not going to--_

_Was he?_

"So those dragons you can make appear right? They're like, really long. And huge. Pretty amazing."

"U-Uh huh...?" The other man seemed taken aback, not yet sure whether to treat that as a compliment.

"They're really cool, huh. I mean, who doesn't love dragons. But like, don't you think they're a bit... excessive?"

"What do you mean...?"

"Well, you know, with the way they are..." McCree continued, ignoring Widowmaker violently shaking her head at him behind Hanzo's back. "One could think you use them to compensate for _somethin'_. Do ya?"

"I... _what_?" Hanzo sounded incredibly offended, and understandably so.

Widowmaker hid her face in her hands. She didn't want to hear any more.

She just wanted to get back home.

On that day, she felt alive.

She felt alive and incredibly pissed off. 

 


End file.
